


The Morning After

by notjustmom



Series: Sherlock Christmas Ficlets 2017 [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Day after Christmas, M/M, the return
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 08:29:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13003821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: prompt 13: In front of the fire/ Pine-scented





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> The boys from "The Unexpected Visitor" verse... part two.

John rubbed his face and kept his eyes closed as he considered the strange dream for a moment, then took a deep breath in. Pine. Why pine? He slowly opened his eyes and was surprised to find himself on the couch, under a pile of Mrs. Hudson's quilts. He considered closing his eyes again and going back to sleep, but there was a tree in the flat. A tree. There was a tree, with white fairy lights, more fairy lights framed the window, garlands took the place of the odds and ends that had always decorated the mantelpiece, of course, the skull still sat there grinning at him from across the room. And there was a figure wrapped in blankets curled up in Sherlock's chair, in front of a roaring fire. He blinked once, then twice. Still there. Still here. Last night was...

"I'm going to make a cuppa, would you like one?" John wondered that his voice sounded as normal as it did. "Do you still take -"

"Four. Please. My sweet tooth, if anything, has only become worse."

John shivered as he put his feet on the floor, but somehow managed to stand, and make his way into the kitchen.

Sherlock cleared his throat, and in a quiet, raspy voice began to explain. "I am sorry about the couch, I had intended to move you to your room, I wasn't sure what you'd think if you woke up in my bed. But Hudders helped me - after she nearly had a stroke, she had brought up your morning tea, found us sitting on the floor, took the tray back down, after she recovered, returned with every blanket she could find. I was - I didn't know what I'd find when I came back, if I had a bed, or a room, a place here, anymore. But you." Sherlock's voice broke and he swore under his breath, as he tried to sit up and look in John's direction. "You kept it all exactly as it was, as it had been, as if I had just gone out for a walk. I walked past your surgery, when I got back, thought about making an appointment, but reconsidered, thought a more private reunion would be more appropriate, more calmly accepted, I suppose. And no, I didn't decorate all on my own, had a bit of help from my network, they carried the tree up. I did do the lights somehow - wanted to get those done before you got home, wasn't sure what your schedule was, but I theorised -"

"Guessed," John muttered as he put a mug next to Sherlock and eased down into his own chair.

"I never guess. You had done all the washing up, hadn't bought a new pint of milk, saw the empty container in the bin, you were supposed to work again this morning..."

"Shit."

"When they phoned, I -" Sherlock picked up the mug with trembling hands and took a sip.

"You pretended to be me with a cold."

"Why didn't you leave?"

John narrowed his eyes at the question, then stretched out his toes towards the fire and sighed. "At first, I told myself that I was staying for Mrs. Hudson, then it was I didn't have time to look for another flat, though I had considered what fun I could have trying to find the worst part of town, so Mycroft would have to - does he know, that you're home?"

Sherlock's silence gave him his answer.

"Truth?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Couldn't. Simple as that. I walked into your room a week after. Could still - your scent was - I turned around and walked out, closed the door behind me. Haven't been in there, since. Mrs. Hudson dusts in there once a week, but I -" John gazed down into his tea, then glanced up at his friend. "This is the only place that has ever been home for me. And I couldn't bear to pack you away into boxes. Mycroft actually asked me if I needed assistance with that, at the funeral. The bloody funeral."

Sherlock watched John's fingers tighten around his mug, and wondered that it didn't crumble, then his fingers relaxed as he lifted the mug to his lips and took a sip, then carefully lowered it again.

"Were you there? Please tell me you weren't there watching, listening to me -"

Sherlock shook his head.

"I - you would have found my parting words to you overly sentimental I suppose. I might have a copy of it somewhere, might be on my laptop still, if you want to see it. I thought it bad taste to put it on the blog - the eulogy I started writing when I got back home from Bart's - I didn't get to identify you. Of course I didn't because it wasn't you - I don't want to know who was involved. I'm sure it took hundreds..."

"Twenty-five."

"Twenty-five. And Molly and Mycroft and your parents. Greg didn't know, did he? You let him - Mycroft let him - twist in the wind for a few months, then swooped in and saved his career - got rid of Anderson and Donovan."

"I asked Myc to -" Sherlock shook his head. "I didn't - I honestly didn't know, John."

"Know what, precisely? More tea?"

"Don't be flippant," Sherlock muttered into his mug, and instantly regretted it. "Sorry."

"I always thought if I had said the right thing, or hadn't gone back to check on Mrs. Hudson, had been five minutes earlier, I could have - I should have known - you had -"

"It was never your fault."

"Of course it was."

Sherlock carefully put his mug on the table. "I thought. I honestly thought I had a chance to come home that day, John. I never wanted to - if I had known how much, I didn't know until I heard your voice - how much - you have no idea how much I wanted to stay, John. If there had been another way - but I - couldn't see -" He swore as he tried to unravel the mass of blankets that tangled up his legs, finally throwing them aside to get on his knees and inch painfully forward until he sat in front of John and looked down at his bandaged fingers. "I don't expect you to understand, or return my feelings. In my time - 'away' - not sure what else to call it - I had a lot of time to think, when I wasn't - and I came to realise that -" He looked up into John's unreadable eyes and sighed. "When I couldn't see you, hear you - be in the same room, there were times when I - nearly broke protocol and used my burner phone just to hear your voice mail, but I couldn't take the chance that you'd actually answer - so when I was able to get to those internet cafes, I would read your blog, the old posts - and leave you anonymous comments. I don't know if you ever read them. I -"

John nodded as tears began to stream unchecked down his cheeks. "Molly brought over your coat and scarf that night, I accepted them and she couldn't think of anything to say but that she was sorry. When she closed the door behind her, I buried my face in them, I could still smell you, it took a couple of days before they lost it." He sniffed and shook his head. "They are on the hook - might want to have them dry-cleaned before you wear them again. You are the first person I've ever missed. Your absence - I stayed in bed for a week. I didn't see the point, and then, I got hungry. I realised I was still alive technically, I was still breathing, my heart was still beating, even though the reason I - the reason I got up every day was gone. I don't know when it happened, when you became - can you promise me something?"

Sherlock whispered, "anything."

"I wouldn't say that until you know what I'm going to ask you." John reached out a hand and pushed the tangled mess from Sherlock's eyes. "If you leave me again - I'm still not completely convinced that I'm not stuck in a really bizarre dream that is going on way too long - it will end me. So, please, Sherlock, promise me - if you have to leave, take me with you, it doesn't matter where or why - you can't leave me alone again. You just can't."

Sherlock got to his knees and buried his face in John's lap. "I promise, John."


End file.
